Sorry Lass
by SaxyGirl
Summary: Yes! Another Brynjolf/Dragonborn story based upon the annoying "Sorry Lass" line. A fun little one-shot I threw together because I was annoyed at him and the fact that my Dragonborn can't marry him. WHY CAN'T I MARRY THE SEXY NORD THIEF?


_AN: I've got a few Raelynn shorts I'm working on, but this kind of wormed its way in first. Is it a story line that's over done? Yeah probably. Do I care? Not at all. Had the idea, wrote the idea, amused by the idea. Enjoy!_

"'Sorry lass, I've got important things to do. We'll speak another time'," Freja mutters to herself, voice pitched to a lower octave and absolutely butchering Brynjolf's accent. She slams around behind the bar of the Ragged Flagon, shuffling through bottles until she finds a stashed bottle of Arenthia red. "Yes!" she crows, standing from behind the bar with a grin.

"I hope your planning on paying for that," Delvin says from the door to the Cistern. Freja sticks her tongue out at him before plopping a fat pile of septims down for Vekel to find in the morning. She grabs the bottle and rips the cork out as she slinks around the bar and over to one of the tables. She yanks a chair out and settles into it, propping her feet up on the table top. Delvin makes his way over to join her, folding his arms on the table and raising his eyebrows. "So, what brings our lovely Guild Master into the bar at three in the morning?" he asks.

"I was thirsty," she retorts and shakes the bottle at him. "Obviously." She takes a deep drink and sighs as the warmth from the alcohol settles in her belly and then starts to seep into her limbs; getting right liquored up sounds like a fantastic plan about now.

"Indeed," Delvin says. "And what is causing your craving for this particular beverage?"

She gives him a flat look. "Must you ask?" she inquires. "Seriously?"

"Ah, is your Second-in-Command still dodging you then?" he questions.

"Delvin, he practically dove into the waters of the Cistern earlier to avoid me, and this is a man who prides himself on his appearance. He was willing to get his precious self wet, and in dirty water too, just to not talk to me. What do you think?" She takes another drink and slams the bottle down, focusing on her anger and trying to push down the pain that flares up. "'Sorry lass, I've got important things to do. We'll speak another time'," she mimics again.

"You're getting good at that accent," Delvin comments.

"Only because I've heard him say it so much," she replies.

"Fair enough," he says. They sit in silence a little longer, her downing wine and him watching her. "You're going to regret this later," he points out.

"I'll worry about it later," she mutters.

He leans back in the chair and tilts his head as he studies her. "I'm surprised at you," he says. At her sharp look he holds his hands up. "You walked in here bold as brass all those months ago and single-handedly saved our guild. Because of you we've got vendors back down here in the Flagon and the place actually looks like a reputable establishment again." He glances around at all the banners and updated décor. "Well, sort of," he amends. "And you're telling me that just because one man doesn't want to talk to you, you're just gonna take it? By the gods, not only are you a thief, you're the best damn thief down here! Do something!"

The bottle slowly lowers from Freja's lips as she considers his words. "You know what Delvin? You're right!" she says. "I'm gonna do… something!" She stands from the chair and sways slightly as the force of the alcohol hits her. Delvin reaches out but she waves him off and drunkenly sneaks towards the Cistern.

She manages to get through the door and to the partitioned area where Brynjolf is sleeping without waking anybody. She looks back over at Delvin and motions for him to keep quiet as she creeps towards the sleeping Nord. She reaches him easily and her fingers dip into his pockets and pouches as she looks for anything she can use to get him to talk to her. Her hand closes around a familiar feeling arrow and she doesn't even bother to stifle the gasp as she rips it from his pouch.

"This is one of my arrows!" she yells, holding the dragonbone arrow aloft. She spent ages toiling over the forge with Balimund to create arrows from the bones she had salvaged from the dead dragons. Now that the dragons had pledged loyalty to her she no longer had bones readily available and each arrow was a precious commodity. She stands straight and glares down at Brynjolf as he blinks up at her. "What do you think you're doing with this?" she asks, waving it in his face.

He arches an eyebrow and pushes himself up to sitting. "What exactly were you doing digging through my pockets, lass?" he returns.

Freja can feel her pale skin starting to flush pink but focuses on her anger. This is about him avoiding her and stealing her arrows. "Doesn't matter," she fires back. "What matters is you stole one of my arrows!" She points it at him and he frowns, standing from the bed so that he is facing her.

"I'm a thief, it's what I do," he replies, crossing his arms as he glares at her coolly.

"You don't steal from fellow guild mates," she retorts before she can realize he's set her up.

The grin that curls his lips is anything but amusing and he clears his throat. "So then why were you in my pockets lass?" he questions.

She can feel the tears pricking at the back of her eyes and inhales sharply to try and keep them at bay. "Forget it," she says, throwing the arrow at his feet. "Just forget it." She spins and storms across the Cistern towards the ladder exit, ignoring all the curious looks from the other thieves.

She stops just before she mounts the ladder and looks at him. He is still standing there, arms crossed and an amused look on his face, the arrow lying untouched by his feet. "You know Brynjolf, I don't know why I wasted my time," she says. "I've got two Companions, at least one Jarl, and probably every single one of my housecarls who would be thrilled if I wore an Amulet of Mara for them, so maybe I will. Maybe I'll come to the realization that you obviously don't care about me like I do about you and move on with my life."

She waves her hand around vaguely at the Cistern. "You can just stay down here wrapped up in your guild business and your 'important things'. I hope you enjoy them." She grabs the rungs of the ladder and hauls herself up towards the trap door.

"And what?" he calls after her, "You'll just leave us?"

She closes her eyes and inhales slowly, blinking back the tears. "Of course not," she answers. "This guild is my family." She sighs and glances over her arm at him. He still hasn't moved but the look on his face has changed; unfortunately she can't make it out in the dim light. "I will take that job from Delvin in Raven Rock though," she adds. "Give me some time to clear my head." She turns back to face the ladder with a shrug. "And who knows, maybe when I come back we'll be celebrating my wedding." She doesn't wait for an answer, just shoves the trapdoor open and climbs the stairs into the early morning of Riften. She hurries through town, not even bothering to slink through the shadows and avoid the guards.

She makes it to Honeyside before the tears fall and she collapses onto her bed, clutching at a pillow. She's not sure how long she stays there before she inhales slowly, the effect of the alcohol having worn off long ago. She stands and brushes her cheeks, wiping away the last traces of her breakdown and then straightens her armor and stretches.

"Iona!" she bellows and her housecarl appears at the top of the stairs.

"My Thane?" she asks.

"I'm going to Raven Rock. Hold all correspondence for me until I return, okay?" she instructs.

"Aye, my Thane," Iona replies.

Freja scoops up three empty packs, filling one with provisions and the other two she leaves empty. She steps out into the streets of Riften, intent on heading to Windhelm and catching the next boat to Solstheim. She makes her way through town, dodging as many residents of the city as possible. She's nearly made it to the gate when somebody grabs her arm and drags her into the alley between Riftweald and Snow-Shod Manor.

Whoever it is presses her against the wall and a large hand covers her mouth when she tries to scream. "C'mon lass," Brynjolf breathes against her ear. "I'm not gonna hurt ya." His cocky voice only serves to piss her off and she struggles until she's manages to thrash around enough to break his grip. She turns quickly and pushes him away, taking several steps back.

"What do you want, Brynjolf?" she snaps. He's standing in the shadows and she glares in his general direction.

"I just wanted to talk," he says. "You left the Cistern in such a rush earlier."

She snorts and moves towards the gate that leads back to the main street of town. "Sorry lad, I've got important things to do. We'll speak another time," she says, mimicking his accent perfectly.

She pushes the gate open but freezes when he sighs. "I'm sorry, Freja," he says. She swallows and looks back at him. The whole time they've known each other he's never called her by her name; by Nocturnal, she wasn't even sure he knew her real name for a long time. The sound of it now is enough to make her stop and listen.

He holds his hand out and she turns, allowing the gate to swing shut but not stepping back towards him. "I shouldn't have," he shifts and she wishes she could see him better. "I should have talked to you," he finally says.

"Well, we agree on that at least," she replies, unable to stop the ice from creeping into her words. She refuses to be weak in front of him again. "If there's nothing else?" She arches an eyebrow at him.

"Freja. I," he trails off and runs a hand through his hair. "Fuck," he mutters and then steps into the light. She sees it immediately, the sun's rays catching and glinting off the gold and blue medallion. She feels light headed and reaches for the wall to steady herself. He extends his hands towards her but doesn't step forward to touch her.

"Gods, say something," he pleads and she blinks, really looking at him. She sees the fear in his eyes and for the first time the strong and steady Brynjolf seems unsure of himself. She doesn't like it.

She swallows and then gives him a grin she knows is weaker than it should be. "An Amulet of Mara? You're not married? Surprising," she says, her voice gaining strength as she speaks.

He breathes an obvious sigh of relief and then smirks at her. "Interested in me, are you?"

She looks him up and down and taps her chin as she admires him. "I do believe I am," she replies. Her confidence fails her and she looks down at the ground. "Are you interested in me?" she inquires.

He reaches for her then and grabs her hands, drawing her away from the street and further into the shadows. One of his hands cups her cheek and his eyes gaze into hers. "I'd be glad to stand by your side until Nocturnal takes us, if you'll have me," he answers.

She smiles, a small and sincere one. "I will," she breathes. He kisses her then and her eyes drift closed as she sinks into it.

Several minutes later their lips part, though his arms are wound tightly around her and don't seem to be letting go any time soon. "We're getting married _before_ you go to Raven Rock," he orders. "I'll not have some smarmy Dark Elf thinking you're available goods."

"I may pass the Raven Rock job off," she says. "I don't particularly like having ash in every bit of my armor and clothes. I was only going to take it to get away from you for a little while," she admits.

He grins and nuzzles her neck, pressing a kiss to her jawline. "And now?" he asks.

"Oh, I suppose I'll take a closer job," she says. He grins and she winks. "Maybe Solitude." He snarls and grips her around the waist, hefting her up and carrying her towards the door to Riftweald. She laughs and smacks his arms and she twists in his grip. "Brynjolf! What are you doing?" she asks.

"I'm going to give you every reason I can think of why you should only take jobs on this side of Skyrim," he replies, nudging the door open and then kicking it closed behind him. "I'm going to make sure you want to be back here every night." He drops her onto the bed and crawls over her.

"You could always just come with me," she points out.

"Why would I want to do this in an inn or a tent when we have a perfectly good, empty house, right here?" he asks. "No housecarls, no bards, nothing. Just you and me." His fingers are already working at the buckles on her armor and she shifts to give him better access.

"Well, when you put it that way," she murmurs, her own hands coming up to help him remove their armor.

Delvin can't keep the smug grin off his face as he swaggers into the Flagon. "Vex, you owe me fifty septims," he says. "Ton, you owe me ninety, and Cynric, you're headed to Raven Rock."

"You're kidding me," Tonilia says, reaching for her money pouch.

"Let's just say it's a good thing we spread the word that Riftweald is haunted, the sounds those two are making right now," Delvin responds. Tonilia makes a face and Vex huffs as she slaps her septims down on the table.

"It's not fair when you set them up," Vex complains. "That's practically cheating."

"The rules were I couldn't tell either one how the other felt. Nobody ever said I couldn't give them a nudge," Delvin replies with a shrug as he swipes the coins into his pouch. "All it took was planting an arrow on Bryn and then reminding Freja she's a thief. Easy-peasy."

The women frown and mutter to each other but don't argue, knowing that he's right.

Cynric sighs and stands from his chair. "I _hate_ Solstheim," he grumbles.


End file.
